Posts tagged ‘Fantasy Short Story’

Lady Swarmstrike heard the shuffle of her daughter’s feet as she returned from her classes at the Crimson Academy. The lady of the house was pouring over some old tomes, and spoke over her left shoulder toward the hallway.

“How was your training today?”

There was only silence. It was not the first time Swarmstrike had been ignored by her daughter; so, she simply tucked her dark curls behind her pointed ear and continued her reading. Lady Swarmstrike’s face was flawlessly smooth, which belied her nearly three hundred years of life. She had seen many battles, but her visage still seemed that of a young girl. It had taken Swarmstrike much longer to settle down and have children due to her travelling across Delphia. She had not been prepared to have sole responsibility of her daughter, but the death of her husband left her unprepared for a lot of things.

Then Swarmstrike heard a sound she was not expecting, the light and hopeless sigh of her daughter. The lady slowly turned to see the young elf leaning in the doorframe, one arm across her torso and the other dangling down with parchment clutched in her slender fingers.

Her daughter, Greyhaven raised her hand and extended the letter but kept her silver eyes lowered. “They are wrong,” she muttered as her mother pulled the note away. As Lady Swarmstrike read the words, Greyhaven put her back on the doorframe and crossed both arms in a defensive posture.

Lady Swarmstrike,

Your daughter, Greyhaven, disrupted my class discussion today when she decided to argue the role humans and dwarves played in the War of Horded Magic. It is our duty to instill the correct teachings of that part of history. Apparently, Greyhaven’s grandfather has filled her mind with stories that simply are not true. However, your daughter refused to relent and was thus sent from my class. Any further instance such as this will result in her immediate expulsion from this academy.

Warmest regards,

Professor Vonorola

With warmth that neither Greyhaven nor Swarmstrike expected, the mother uncoiled her daughter’s arms and embraced her. There were several moments of silence as the two women let years of unspoken anger and resentment at the loss of their husband and father die. The realization that they now only had one another settled over them. For too many years, Swarmstrike had buried herself in her books while Greyhaven found solace in her painting.

Finally, Greyhaven exploded into an explanation. “Vonorola said that the dwarves closed themselves up in Dundersnuff to save themselves while the rest of the world burned, but Pops told me the dwarves closed their gates only after the majority of refugees from the surrounding areas were inside; AND that most of the dwarven soldiers were dispatched out to fight evil. Pops said that we were the ones that ‘tried to hide under the supposed safety of neutrality’. Mom, they are not teaching us what really happened. Vonorola told us that most of the humans fought alongside Rainor, but I know that is isn’t right. Pops said that the humans made some of the greatest sacrifices of all time during that war.”

“I had no idea that this is what the academy is teaching now,” Swarmstrike said, shocked.

Immediately, mother and daughter made their way to the Crimson Academy. Swarmstrike, because of her father’s legacy, was not questioned in any manner as she quickly paced through the halls looking for Professor Vonorola.

She found the teacher and cornered her in the hallway. “You claim to be telling our children the truth about the past, but you vomit lies and then blame the stench on my child. You will no longer be teaching at this Academy, if I have anything to do with it. I promise you that.”

“I teach the curriculum assigned to me, nothing more,” Vonorola stated in a stoic tone. “If you have a problem, take it to Marcev.”

“I plan to,” Lady Swarmstrike answered.

“I heard my name?” Marcev, the highest ranking official in the Crimson Academy had obviously been told of Swarmstrike’s presence on the school grounds and had made his way to see her.

Swarmstrike explained about the fallacies in Vonorola’s teaching, and was surprised at the regal elf’s response.

“Your words are far more venomous than the hordes of vermin you summon forth. Be away, and know that none of your blood line will ever be Crimson Elite.”

“My family will always hold true to the core values of what it means to Crimson, long after your spires collapse and your books burned. When the races you sneer and gawk at march upon the bodies of your deceased, we will remain Crimson. When the very soil of Alhaven drinks your blood and the carrion birds blot the sun, we will remain Crimson.”

They were banished from Alhaven that very day, escorted out by two armored guards. Swarmstrike left her tome open on the table. Greyhaven did not bring her expensive paints. They had the truth, and now they had each other.

“Hunt,” the word was spoken through teeth clenched in anger. As he stepped over the body of a friend, the man was visibly shaking. He had befriended this particular owlbear a while ago, and while not able to clearly show how much he cared for it during its life, it was obvious now.The man planted his staff and forced himself to his feet. Normally the death of an owlbear, friend or no, would not cause any reaction. However the druid had been lonely and the owlbear,Thistle he was called by the druid, had given him companionship. Now Thistle was dead, his chest ripped out and laying in ribbons.

The druid, Crick, looked to the beast that he had traveled with for many years now. “Tix, I commanded you to hunt, and yet here you stand. Does my anger delight you?” The beast lowered his head, accepting the scolding. “Then hunt!” Crick shouted, but Tix was already gone.

*****

“I dunno,” the large man answered. He was huge, standing over seven feet, but more amazing than his height was his thickness. It looked as though he could simply snap a dragon’s neck. He cocked his head and looked at the leonine creature perched on the rocky slope above him, and repeated, “I dunno. Tell me the answer.”

“Time, my friend. The answer is, of course, time,” Delia spoke. Her words sent a the man into a series of laughs and knee slaps. Delia, a sphinx, looked absolutely superior as she rose from the rocks. She was truly majestic sitting on the rocks overlooking the small cottage that the two companions called home. It sat nestled in the hills on a small patch of flat treeless land. The cottage had been abandoned for a while before the companions had come upon it. A beautiful place to call home, regardless of race.

“Aye, I knowed that one long before you told us the answer. I just didn’t wanna make ole Simeon here feel as stupid as his kin,” Duluth protested. Simeon shot the dwarf a look, but as he saw the dwarf shrug his shoulders in a helpless gesture, he only laughed louder. “Well, I woulda figured it out anyway,” Duluth stammered, but all three knew the truth of it. In no time, all three were laughing.

Delia broke the mirth, “I expect the usual prize for winning. This time I want it to be an elven female. I will return for my winnings and for another round. Take care.” Then she was gone, flying off the wherever she could find more riddles or people to solve them.

“Bah, I don’t wanna be doing no elf, that’s fer sure.” Duluth snorted. He had already made a male dwarf, a human male, a lion, a dragon, and a ring out of stone. By his way of thinking an elf was too delicate and too weak to be chiseled out of stone. “I don’t work with silly flowers. I work with rocks, boy, ROCKS. Ye ever seen an elf that even remotely resembled a stone?”

“I’ve never seen a horse that looked like stone, but you love that piece,” Simeon protested. “And I must say that I have only seen two elves in my whole life. In truth, though, neither looked much like stone.” He perked up and looked at Duluth. “You are an artist though. This is what an artist does, he makes people see things differently than they normally would,” Simeon patted the dwarf on the back and sat up.

“An artist, yes, but I am far from a miracle worker. And that’s what it’d be, a miracle to make an elf from stone.” He went on and on long after Simeon had walked away. Although, throughout his whole tirade, his hands were instinctively feeling the small stones around him, searching for one that would best suit to make an elf. After all, he did not want to disappoint Delia. Duluth would make the elf because he, like most of his race, loved a challenge.

This is a story I wrote about five years ago, inspired by a day wandering round an old Abbey. I was writing a fresh post for you this week, but it did not turn out how I had hoped, and I banished it to my folder of ‘Did not work’ files. As I am currently writing a short story to submit to a SF magazine, I did not have tme to write something else, so I have had to leaf through some of my old stories to find something else for you guys this week. I chose this one as, while I think it is an enjoyable read and an interesting idea, I think it works well as a comparision with 21:15 to Fort William which I wrote at the end of last year. I think I may have actually improved slightly… very slightly. What do you think?

Enjoy!

He wasn’t sure how he found himself here. He’d never been one for historical structures, let alone religious ones, but for a reason he could not explain he had felt compelled to visit the abbey’s gardens and wander aimlessly amid the nature. He wasn’t even sure how he had got there, his mind was so fractured and erratic at the moment that events no longer seemed to follow one another in his memory. Yet he was sure that he didn’t want to know, that there was a reason why he shouldn’t know. So he continued to lumber aimlessly around the grounds, his pronounced limp jarring his back with every step.